A couple of neighbors saw me walking Lola and asked me to walk their dogs too, which I was happy to do and it makes me a few extra dollars.
There’s a park at the end of my street and I head that way. It’s a nice fall day—in fact it’s gorgeous. The sky is a brilliant blue, the trees are turning, and the sun is illuminating the leaves into glowing gold, fiery red, and rust brown. A few leaves layer the path in the park and it’s so pretty.
Lola and I are strolling along the path when out of nowhere a dog appears, bounding up to us and jumping Lola.
I let out a scream. “Lola!” I pull on the leash and dash toward them to rescue her from being demolished by the other dog. Okay, okay, it’s a smallish dog, just a pup, but still, he’s aggressive. And Lola’s not happy either, growling and snarling. Oh my God, it’s a dog fight! What do I do?
I hear a man yelling, “Otis! Come back! Jesus, Otis, stop.”
Lola is snapping and barking, but the other dog doesn’t get the message, still jumping her and pawing at her. His tail is wagging wildly, although it’s not much of a tail, just a furry little quivery stub. His tongue lolls out of his jowly mouth. Lola is freaked out, and so am I.
But I have to save her.
I try to pick her up, prepared to feel the other dog’s teeth sink into my arm. She’s squirming and jumping so much I can’t get hold of her and I’m grabbing air and stumbling around, and then I fall on my ass.
Then Lola jumps the other dog, trying to pin him. Now I’m worried she’s going to kill him.
The yelling man sprints up and grabs the leash dragging behind the dog. “Shit, shit, shit,” he growls. He seizes the dog’s collar and pulls him away from Lola. He glares at Lola. “What the hell?”
“What the hell is right!” Anger flares inside me. “What is your dog doing off the leash?” I demand. I grab Lola’s leash and tug her toward me, pulling her into my lap where I’m sitting on the grass.
“He’s on a leash! He yanked it out of my hands when he saw your dog.”
“She’s not my dog.”
He frowns. “Whatever.”
“You should have better control of him!”
“He’s not dangerous! He’s just a puppy. Your dog attacked him!”
“He attacked her!” I run my hands over her and bend my head to hers. “Are you okay?”
I know she can’t answer, but I talk to her like this all the time. Please, please be okay. Not only do I kind of love her, but Kent will kill me if I let something happen to his precious pup.
The man crouches down and lays his hands on his dog. “You okay, Otis?”
I scowl at him. “I’m sure he’s fine. Lola’s not an attack dog. She was defending herself.”
I watch him check out his dog and I’m even more annoyed. He’s very attractive. Very attractive. Dressed in worn jeans and an old hoodie, his dark hair falls over his forehead in a defiant tumble but is neatly trimmed around his ears and neck. Stubble darkens his square jaw, and his eyes make me think of the syrup I pour over my pancakes—warm, liquid brown but with a cheeky glint in them. He’s also got amazing shoulders and long legs, and I’m fascinated by his hands, which are a bit rough but with neat nails. Everything about him screams danger. Hot, sexy danger.
Too bad he’s a jerk.
I drag my attention away from him, which is definitely not easy, and push myself to stand. He rises too and holds out a hand to help me, but I ignore it. I take a few steps to a nearby bench and sit there. Lola jumps up onto my lap and licks my chin.
The man and his dog follow us. The dog looks more worried than the man, with his furrowed forehead. Goddammit, even the dog is cute.
“I’m Easton,” the man says. “This is Otis.”
“I don’t care who you are,” I snap. I’m shaking a bit now, the adrenaline rush in my veins dissipating. God, I was so scared there for a few minutes.
Otis plants his butt in front of me and Lola, staring at us with sad but hopeful eyes. Shit.
Easton sighs. “I’m sorry. He caught me off guard and pulled the leash out of my hand.”
I purse my lips, looking at Otis, not Easton. “He does look apologetic.”
“He always looks like that. But I’m sure he is. He gets in trouble a lot.”
“Maybe you need to take him for some obedience training.”
“I would, if he was my dog.”
“He’s not yours?”
“It’s a long story.” He sits on the bench too and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how I ended up with him and I can’t get hold of his owner so I’m kind of stuck with him.”
“Oh.”
“And I have to go out of town tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “He’ll destroy my apartment while I’m gone.”
“You can’t leave him alone while you go out of town!” I turn alarmed eyes on Easton.
“I know, I know,” he says hastily. “What am I gonna do, though?”
I don’t know. Not my problem. I slump back onto the bench and rub my hip where I landed on the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I might have a bruise. But that’s okay.” I sigh. “It’ll just match my bruised spirit.”
His lips twitch and his eyebrow lifts into a slightly wicked arch. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“I haven’t been having the best luck lately. You could say my life is like the love child of a train wreck and a dumpster fire.”
Easton chokes on a laugh.
I focus on Otis again. He’s gazing longingly at Lola. Clearly he just wants to be friends. I cautiously set Lola on the ground and watch as Otis sniffs around her.
“He is hard to resist,” Easton says, watching them too. “He seems to like women. What else is going wrong in your life?”
I’m not about to share all my woes with a douche stranger. “Nothing.”
He shrugs. “You’re too pretty to have a dumpster fire of a life.”
I roll my eyes, even though my heart quivers at the compliment. Because, yeah…he’s gorgeous. “This isn’t the time for flirting. Read the room, dude.”
He laughs, and it’s a fantastic laugh—low and deep and rumbly. “I’m not flirting. I’m just being extra friendly to someone who’s extra attractive.”